Mutants and Zombies Everywhere! Or Villains, Violence, and Selfishness: Questions of Humanity in the Post-apocalyptic (Pandemic) Video Game

Abstract

The post-apocalyptic environment has been popular in video games for many decades—from nuclear fallout to alien invasions, there is a fascination with the decline of mankind. This article looks, in light of the Covid-19 outbreak, at the depiction of failing and inhuman worlds in video games about pandemics. The environments in games such as Bioshock (2007), Left 4 Dead (2008, 2009), and The Last of Us (2013), are unflinchingly cruel, often depicting humans (and the player) as selfish entities seeking only self-survival. These environments are destructively violent, and, although the player is often surrounded by ‘mutants', these worlds are also oppressively lonely. This article looks at the fears reflected in pre-Covid-19 pandemic video games and what they say about our world, offering a retrospective view now we are living through a global pandemic perhaps not so different from those found in these games.

Many video games explore post-apocalyptic environments, from zombie games such as The Resident Evil series (1996–present) to horrors in post-nuclear war settings such as the Metro series (2010–2019), or, perhaps more radically, with demons spreading from a portal to Hell as with Doom (1993–present). This article looks specifically at the post-apocalyptic pandemic game, a popular genre even before the outbreak of Covid-19. Somewhat naturally while living through a pandemic, one's curiousness was prompted to explore the depiction of pandemics in the media, specifically video games. Particularly, this article explores how human interaction is depicted in pandemic games before Covid-19, and what these games suggest about humanity and social anxiety in the contemporary age.

Pandemic games, including the games of this study, are predominantly of the horror genre, as may be expected considering their subject. Horror is a particularly popular genre in video games as the genre often utilizes recognizable locations but offers a twist to make them fantastical, special, and engaging (Rouse, 2009, pp. 16–17). This is not necessarily unique to pandemic games, but it is a theme that is particularly noticeable in them as the world slips further from recognizable to fantastical and continues to disintegrate around the characters and players. Horror also has a long history of reflecting social anxiety, offering allegorical explorations of our worlds that may provide a thought-provoking commentary on contemporary society and fears (Wells, 2000, pp. 20–21). Looking at the aforementioned disintegrating worlds of the pandemic games, the reflected social anxiety is clear: division and social collapse. This article looks at how this fear is presented through violence and loneliness in the pandemic game, while also briefly considering whether this reflection of humanity is reasonable now we have lived through a global pandemic.

The games of this study, namely Bioshock (2007), Left 4 Dead (2008) and Left 4 Dead 2 (2009), and The Last of Us (2013), each offers different gameplay styles, tones, narratives, and depictions of human behavior. These games have partly been selected because of their differences and are representative of the range in the genre. As shall be discussed, the pandemics in these games all manifest in different forms: The Last of Us sees a natural-viral infection; Left 4 Dead sees a man-made infection; and Bioshock a man-made psychological and physical disease. The causes of pandemics differ, and the tone of the gameplay also varies massively. That said, these games also present common elements found in pandemic games—for instance, each game sees victims mutated to become “Other” to the player. More importantly, each game offers reflections of contemporary social anxiety as they present a crumbling world with little hope, and each game, despite their differences, depicts a commonality with excessive violence and prevailing themes of selfishness and loneliness. Sub-chapters of this article look at the purpose of these themes, assessing why developers choose to depict a rather morbid view of humanity. It is fascinating, and slightly telling, that games sharing only the basic premise of spreading illness present similar views of humanity and society. First, however, I will present a brief overview of each game, focusing on their narratives and noting their gameplay styles.

The Pandemic Game

In Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2, the player takes a position in a party of four (a different group of survivors in each game) who work together to fight hordes of infected, zombie-like creatures. The infection is caused by a pathogen, simply called “Green Flu,” which causes aggression and mutation in victims. It is suggested that this mutation, as with many “zombie” video games and films, is also spread through bites—although survivors are more likely to be killed by the violence of the infected long before this. The survivors look for rescue from the American military, who are doing their utmost to stop the spread of the infection, although there are also some hints that the military has murdered asymptomatic carriers of the infection. Realistically, however, there is little narrative to these games, rather the focus of the games is to survive in differently themed environments. Indeed, each chapter starts with a film-style poster and also has end credits, suggesting a rather flippant tone. Unlike the other games discussed in this article, morality does not play a key role in the narrative, rather, as the film-style suggests, there is a simple cathartic fun to the violence akin to exploitation films. This focus on gameplay over narrative is somewhat justified by the games’ focus on multiplayer action, although the games still have plots that are perfectly playable in single-player.

That said, Valve and Turtle Rock Studios (then called Valve South) have noticeably developed an oppressive and bleak environment for their games with the color scheme, score, and monster design, building a chilling ambiance. Elements of horror include “special zombies” such as “The Witch” who weeps like a child but lashes out if you approach, and the use of the AI director which senses how you are progressing and can change the layout, music, lighting, and difficulty of each chapter. This means unlike most video games you cannot play the chapter again with the benefit of pattern recognition leading to very little respite. This lack of control is not only engaging but also builds a rather oppressive tone. To defeat the special zombies you need to rely on other characters (whether human or AI controlled), this sense of teamwork is rewarding, yet, despite the cooperative nature of the game the sheer number of infected faced by the players highlights their isolation as an insignificant few against the hordes. The oppressive and bleak atmosphere is also furthered through ever-present and often morbid graffiti, with messages of “no hope” and “no cure” being common, and other messages suggesting the struggles of other survivors. Although it should be of note that other pieces of graffiti do offer some form of comic relief (most amusingly one note under a heartfelt but lengthy message of love and loss reads: “I'm hiding from zombies and reading this was the most terrible thing to happen to me today”). Oddly, these messages from past survivors oxymoronically present another layer of isolation—though there is a suggestion of other survivors in the game world, the lack of contact with friendly AI presents the graffiti as relics of people now long dead. In short, the Left 4 Dead games develop a sense of tension through environmental design that is exasperated by a sense of isolation, but there is an enjoyable release of this tension via the combat mechanics.

The Last of Us is initially set in the present day at the outbreak of a deadly fungal-based infection that turns victims into monsters. The fungus warps the brain of a victim who then goes through different stages of infection. Firstly, victims become “runners” who, in hordes, attempt to bite and kill uninfected people. They then further lose their human qualities until, eventually, the carcass of the infected becomes a breeding ground for fungal spores to continue to spread the pandemic. The gameplay is more nuanced than in Left 4 Dead, involving action, stealth, and a small quantity of survival crafting. The narrative too is more detailed, following Joel (Troy Baker) who loses his daughter Sarah (Hana Hayes) who is shot by a soldier as chaos ensues among the American public and military. Twenty years later, survivors are forced into military-controlled quarantine zones; a rebel group, the Fireflies, resist the authority. Joel and the Fireflies find hope in a young, immune girl, Ellie (Ashley Johnson) whom Joel is tasked with taking to a medical facility in search of a cure. The path Joel and Ellie takes is dangerous, as many infected block their route, but, unlike in Left 4 Dead, there are also several human groups that attack Joel and Ellie. As shall be discussed, with this division of survivors, there is a deeper exploration of society, humanity, and love—indeed, this stronger and more potent narrative has been adapted into an HBO television series.

In both Left 4 Dead and TheLast of Us, the player fights infected enemies, they are not the living dead (or zombies), but they are certainly zombie-like in their behavior. By “zombie-like” one means that the AI in these games acts in an uncanny, aggressive, and irrational manner. Both games see the infected appear somewhat humanoid, if mutated; they are often found wandering aimlessly but with any hint of player interaction they turn aggressive with the intent to kill. While they appear human, their actions lack awareness; in many ways, these figures act as moving obstacles (particularly in The Last of Us where there is more challenge in the game than just combat with the infected). Looking at the depiction of zombies in video games, Shawn McIntosh notes the “empowerment” that one feels when killing a monster and that zombies offer a “guilt-free” figure to kill as they are “evil,” unhuman, and their murder is usually in self-defense (McIntosh, 2008, pp. 12–13). Although technically not zombies, the infected in Left 4 Dead and The Last of Us are treated in the same vein; hordes are killed for cathartic fun in Left 4 Dead, and little sympathy is depicted toward the infected in The Last of Us. Indeed, in both games, the infected quickly lose any resemblance to humanity and become utterly “Other”—placating the guilt of murdering them. Perhaps this is further exasperated in Left 4 Dead as the player is likely playing with real people online, offering a further detachment between the real figures the player works with, and their AI “Other” enemy. There is little question of humanity or morality in attacking these infected. Bioshock, however, does not present zombie-like enemies that are wholly “Other”—indeed, the enemies of this game are not too far removed from the player.

Bioshock, and also Bioshock 2 (2010), is set in the underwater dystopian metropolis of Rapture. Rapture was designed as a world of freedom for intellectuals; however, before the game starts, the utopia falls and becomes a world of greed and social division. Scientific developments seem to improve the environment, as a chemical substance known as ADAM is discovered. It can rewrite genetic material and, when refined into a plasmid, allows people special abilities such as producing electric bolts, or the power of telekinesis. Unfortunately, ADAM is highly addictive, and slowly the population of Rapture transforms into “Splicers” (mostly human creatures with physical and mental deformities that are the most common enemies in these two games). Arguably, the pandemic in Bioshock is an epidemic as it affects one area—Rapture. That said, Rapture is effectively designed as a new world with little to no contact with those above the ocean—as such watching the “new world” of Rapture succumb to illness is akin to the pandemic in The Last of Us. Both games after all raise questions of community, society, and self-preservation above all else. Unlike Left 4 Dead and The Last of Us, the pandemic in Rapture is undoubtedly man-made; science has been pushed too far and caused an uncontrollable drug addiction. Interestingly, there is little difference in tone or effect that this game's pandemic is man-made rather than viral; although there is arguably a greater resonance in the fact that the “infected” of Bioshock is a failing of humankind. Certainly, the Splicers appear more human, thus invoking further feelings of connection and guilt in the narrative. Although Splicers attack the player-protagonist, Jack (Adam Sietz), in their search for ADAM, they still retain some human qualities, such as their physical appearance. They also live in small groups and converse with one another (and even the player). The mutants of Bioshock are not the “guilt-free” zombie figure described by McIntosh. In fact, in the first Bioshock game, the player-character has found Rapture because of a plane crash—we are very much an unwelcome addition to the Splicers’ world. Interestingly, the player defeats the Splicers by using ADAM (and another chemical EVE) to use plasmids and powers as weapons. As such, while uncovering the mysteries of Rapture, the player becomes the very enemy they fight. Or, in other words, the player is also infected by the sickness of Rapture.

For some, a game about addiction may not appear to invoke the term “pandemic.” The other two games presenting a viral infection (The Last of Us) and transmittable disease (Left 4 Dead) are more easily identifiable as pandemics in a biological sense. But I have included Bioshock to broaden this understanding of pandemics, which do, in fact, come in other forms. Noncommunicable diseases (NCDs—ranging from illnesses like cancers to addictions) are, in the words of The W.H.O., a growing global “burden” (The W.H.O., n.d). Indeed, NCDs are often referred to as epidemics and/or pandemics in the medical community. It is a different form of pandemic/epidemic, but no less worrying and no less troubling during and after Covid-19 (Sheldon & Wright, 2020). More importantly, if we are to explore the words and feelings invoked by the word “pandemic”—isolation, loneliness, illness, fearfulness, paranoia of others, and selfishness—these are all very present in Bioshock, as they are in Left 4 Dead or The Last of Us. As with Covid-19, or the pandemics in the other games, Bioshock presents a society in the grips of illness and crisis. It does not matter the form of illness (viral, transmittable, psychological and physical), pandemic games make little distinction in narrative or theme whatever the illness. Bioshock, The Last of Us, and Left 4 Dead show a society that cannot cope when challenged, a society that when pressured by illness will collapse. Despite the different illnesses, these games present the same concerns and invoke similar emotions (such as paranoia and loneliness).

Like Left 4 Dead and The Last of Us, the world of Bioshock is akin to its prevailing sense of sickness and deterioration. Although the Splicers retain human qualities, their mental and physical states continue to deteriorate, and Rapture itself is portrayed through sickly green hues with constant rolling wind and groaning metal sounds throughout the environment—there is a sense that the world itself is unwell and slowly deteriorating. This sense of sickness is furthered as there is a recurring motif of medicine in the game—the second level of Bioshock takes place in the Medical Pavilion, Health Stations are frequent throughout the map, and there are a number of characters who are doctors. Moreover, dialogue throughout Bioshock (often from audio tapes) presents ADAM addiction as a spreading illness, referring to ADAM as “cancer” that “destroyed our bodies, [and] our minds.” Further lines explain how Rapture “went to hell,” while a rather eerie lullaby sung by a female Splicer details how both “Daddy” and “Mommy” will die, leaving their child (the Splicer then realizes the baby has already passed). Like The Last of Us and Left 4 Dead, the sickness in Rapture is still presented as spreading, prevailing, and getting worst in survivors. The pandemic in Rapture has resulted in division and a collapse of civilization, a desperate need for self-preservation, and unchecked violence. Again, these themes are apparent across all the games of this study—evidently, it is not the cause of the pandemic that is significant, but the results of pandemics on civilization which are presented in similarly bleak manners in each game.

In each game, civilization falls into disrepute very quickly. In Bioshock, the world of Rapture was constructed in 1946 and began to fall into ruin by the mid- to late-1950s. This is only a few years before the game takes place in 1960; audio-diaries reveal that at this time there was also a civil war. By the time the protagonist arrives in Rapture there is little society left recognizable. Understandably, most survivors are hostile to the protagonist, although some vestibules of humanity remain—noticeably the player is only in Rapture for a manner of days but some characters such as Dr. Tenenbaum (Anne Bobby) are so desperate for help they rely on the player with little introduction—equally the player-character trusts any figure who does not openly attack him to fight against the illness and isolation of Rapture. The pandemic of The Last of Us begins in 2013, but the main narrative is set in 2033—explaining why so much distrust and division have arisen after 20 years of hardship and disorder. Because of this 20-year span, and the fact that the player controls Joel over these years, there is a greater exploration of community rebuilding, learning to trust others, and even the growth of affection. These themes are not ones explored in Left 4 Dead as the player controls characters only for a manner of days within a month of the initial infection. What The Last of Us and Left 4 Dead do show, however, are worlds that crumble even quicker than Rapture. In The Last of Us, in 2013, American soldiers are seen shooting and killing civilians, including Joel's daughter, in the opening levels Joel ignores the plight of others, and between 2013 and 2014 the Firefly militia is formed and begins to clash with the American military. Similarly, in Left 4 Dead within one month of the infection martial law is declared, and in levels such as “The Park” shootings of uninfected are noted by the protagonists. In short, all three games present an expectation that in times of crisis the idea of community and civilization will collapse with surprising ease, and in the case of Bioshock and The Last of Us, open hostility, selfishness, and violence are also inevitable almost instantaneously. Whether because of man-made or viral illnesses, in each game the world is now one of suffering. In Left 4 Dead, survivors fight endlessly with little hope; The Last of Us sees families torn apart by disease; and Bioshock sees humanity reduced by addiction. And yet in each game, the player is expected, to various extents, to further this dystopia through violence.

Violence in the Pandemic Video Game

Complaints and controversies about violent video games have a long history. However, in recent years, violence in video games has become more common and accepted, though there are still controversies. For instance, in Grand Theft Auto V (2013), the mission “By the Book” sees players torture a man in an interrogation sequence. Although a cut-scene goes on to criticize torture, the mission has split opinion (see: Bramwell, 2013; MacDonald, 2013; Petit, 2014). The discussion around the mission drew comparisons to the “No Russian” mission in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 (2009), in which the player, controlling a CIA agent, murders Russian civilians as part of a mass shooting to infiltrate a terrorist group. Both these scenes are shocking for their violence; more specifically, they are controversial because of their realism. These are not games that see the player run over unrealistic figures in Death Race, or fight to the death graphically as with other controversial games like Mortal Kombat (1992). The violence in Grand Theft Auto V and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 is controversial because it plays upon contemporary fears and reality—in recent years, the public has seen governments abuse their powers using torture, for example, during the Iraq War, and “No Russian” somewhat echoes previous terrorist incidences such as the Beslan massacre (2004) and the Columbine High School massacre (1999). There are other such games that offer a post-modern depiction of violence—Spec Ops: The Line (2012), for instance, is ostensibly a third-person war shooter, yet it forces players to question the morality of violence and war. The violence of these games is not noteworthy, but their reflection of our world is. Such games have moved away from a morally black-and-white dichotomy and are instead morally gray—a trait shared by the pandemic games of this study. This article does not look at the effects of violence upon the player, a topic explored well elsewhere, but instead explores how violence is used to create a narrative that challenges our view of humanity and offers a morally gray reflection of society and civilization. As with the games discussed above, the pandemic games are shocking not because of their violence, but because of what they say about humanity.

For the vast majority of The Last of Us the player controls Joel who is protecting Ellie (who is still a young girl). There is a father–daughter-like bond between the two, which adds a layer of protectiveness as the player battles the infected and other human enemies. The infected in the game effectively build tension and fear; a fine example of this is in the chapter “Pittsburgh” where the player finds themself in the basement of a flooded hotel with no lights and various types of infected lurking. There are many online forums that offer lengthy discussions about the unease players have felt during this particular mission. The infected in this level are present as wholly “Other”, they are not presented as human or with human qualities, and it is never questioned whether killing the infected is wrong. In fact, the greater horror in the game is not the infected, but rather “normal” humankind itself. In the game's prologue, Joel's relatively tranquil family life is torn asunder as the infected attack their neighborhood, nearly killing Joel; his unharmed daughter Sarah is then intentionally shot by a soldier who is ordered to kill fleeing civilians to control the pandemic. The inhumanity of the scene, from both the infected and military, helps justify the violence of the rest of the game. Equally, in this scene, Joel refuses to stop for a family who have a child—instantly, the game is evoking a need for callous individualism. The murder of the infected is needed in the game for one's own survival—but so too is the need to attack or distrust others. The shock of the game is not in the infected, but in the ease and speed with which civilization falls to animal-like self-preservation.

Ellie maintains a child-like innocence in the first half of the game. For instance, she gets disappointed when a comic she finds has a cliff-hanger and, much to Joel's disapproval, wonders how men can walk around after seeing male nudity for the first time in a pornographic magazine. These interludes are essential for building a rapport between player and character; indeed, Katherine Isbister argues that the more human a non-player character's (NPC) characteristics are the greater the player builds a connection and experiences “powerful feelings” (Isbister, 2017, pp. 20–22). This then makes the player experience a disturbing depleted feeling as Ellie's innocence is tainted by the violent world around her. Early in the game, she boasts “If I had a gun, I could help kill some of these fuckers [the infected],” but her first use of a gun in the game is not against the infected, but to kill a man who is attempting to murder Joel in the aforementioned “Pittsburgh” chapter. The shock of her actions, though saving Joel, makes her feel sick. This highlights the moral ambiguity of the game; there is a need to fight and kill other humans to survive, but it is still unnatural and innately wrong, especially when concerning children. Again, this sense of “wrongness” is driven by the player's connection with Ellie and her innocence—this connection to humanity is lost in this bleak world. It is the actions of humans, not the infected, that cause this suffering. The downfall of society is caused by the infected, but they act only as a mirror to present the equally monstrous behavior of the survivors in this pandemic world.

Writing about The Last of Us Part II (2020), David Sims suggests that the game forces players to “confront their own brutality” (Sims, 2020). Sims notes that as Ellie has grown, she becomes more brutal in seeking revenge for the death of Joel and beats others to death—an action the player must control and cannot avoid. This, Sims writes, demonstrates how violence begets more violence and leads to unrelenting “bleakness.” As with the Grand Theft Auto V mission “By the Book”, there are perhaps questions of morality about forcing a player into such actions—indeed, Dougherty (2020) even suggests that the game “seemingly does everything in its power to make gamers feel bad about the act of playing it.” Rather than a criticism, however, Dougherty notes that The Last of Us Part II, like a sad film, endures in the memory as a piece of art. The violence in the game presents the protagonist as morally complex; perhaps at times painful to play, but there is a brutal realism because of their bleakness. This, if nothing else, reflects the pain caused by division and violence in society and highlights the lengths to which humanity can (and may) descend. As before, it is shocking, not because it is violent, but because we see the beginnings of division, selfishness, and violence in our world. Ultimately, we fear a breakdown of civilization and through Ellie, with whom the player has built a connection, we ask ourselves what actions are justified for self-preservation and love.

This rather powerful, yet depressing, view of humanity is not shared by the Left 4 Dead franchise. Although the games portray an oppressive horror environment, it also presents violence as cathartically fun. The franchise has a noticeable focus on violence and gore; Left 4 Dead 2 was even banned for violence in Australia and Germany, though both countries have now released the game uncut. Unlike The Last of Us, there is little criticism or discussion of narrative or themes in Left 4 Dead. Despite being set in a pandemic world, the monsters the player faces in Left 4 Dead fulfill the traditional role of the horror monster in video games, in that they have little social commentary, offer challenges, build an aesthetic of horror (Stobbart, 2019, p. 144), and simply offer gratuitous catharsis.

In Left 4 Dead, the infected remain humanoid only to an extent; the special zombies (such as Spitters, Boomers, and Tanks) appear alien. The main hordes of the infected do look “normal” but their behavior (either attacking en masse or standing still looking at the floor) is so uncanny that they become “Other.” Othering has long played a role in video games; as discussed, until recently video game morality has been rather black-and-white, good versus evil. John Markert notes that people “like the face of evil to be clear and unequivocal” (Markert, 2011, p. 7); this desire for clear black-and-white narratives is evident in video games and partly explains the continued popularity of figures such as monsters and Nazis in video games. Such figures, often simplified in games, offer an unequivocal enemy and a “moral justification for killing” (Hayton, 2012, p. 208). The infected in Left 4 Dead do not present complex personalities or figures to be saved but are dehumanized abstract evils that can be gleefully taken apart. Indeed, even in The Last of Us, there is little sympathy or moral objection to killing the infected—despite the fact many were recently human. Again, the focus on multiplayer gameplay somewhat furthers this—there is a greater weight given to challenge than narrative, as at the end of each campaign the player receives points and could receive awards such as “Headhunter” (most headshots), “Tank Slayer” (did the most damage to the special zombie “Tank”), and “General Defence” (killed the most infected), among others. The infected are not treated as complex figures but as tokens for points. There is little to no morality at play; in both games, players accept the infected to be morally black, or the evil “Other”. The Last of Us takes this further and asks to what extent humans actually align with this monstrous “Other.” Whereas Left 4 Dead enjoys the guilt-free ambiance of a morally black-and-white narrative, in this manner it is more traditional in its approach to world-building and violence.

Not wanting to simplify too much, one should note that there are some who object to the notion of guilt-free cathartic violence against the non-human “Other.” Hartmann and Vorderer (2010), for instance, explore moral disengagement in violent video games including monitoring guilt in subjects playing Half-Life 2 (2004). This article does not seek to explore video games’ effects on the player. But regardless of whether the enemies of Left 4 Dead provoke guilt, or act as guilt-free abstract “Others,” as I argue, the “Othering” of non-human enemies still has a significant effect on the tone of the game. This is shown with the clear tonal shift between the fun “exploitation” style of Left 4 Dead, and the bleakness dog-eat-dog (or rather human-shoot-human) environment of The Last of Us. Equally, there is a clear moral distinction in tone between fighting the infected and other humans in The Last of Us. Perhaps, as with the games discussed earlier, the violence in The Last of Us is more impactful because it presents a fractured society we do not wish to contemplate. Left 4 Dead also presents chilling isolation and horror but allows one to combat this fear through over-the-top cathartic violence. Indeed, Left 4 Dead is so violent as to almost be cartoonish in tone despite the environment; as such it could be suggested that the violence in the game is used to relieve one's fears. Moreover, the aggression of enemies is key to justify the excessive violence (Hartmann and Vorderer) as hordes of infected repeatedly attack the player often and aggressively. This is also relevant to the Splicers of Bioshock.

In Bioshock, violence is forced by necessity as Splicers attack on sight—but, as discussed, these characters do maintain some form of humanity. The combat gameplay is similar to many first-person shooters, though in Bioshock there are more shocking scenes where you can choose to be violent toward little children or save them instead. Although this appears in the game as a moral choice, the game mechanics reward you either way. Because of this, there is a lack of real moral choice. Jonathan Blow notes that the game's mechanics push the player to act selfishly as there is a lack of real sympathy or humanity in the supposed moral dilemmas of Bioshock; Blow furthers this by arguing that video games have conditioned players to accept such brutality and selfishness (Blow, 2007). Indeed, Bioshock and The Last of Us do present selfish depictions of humanity that are established by their violent, self-preserving, gameplay and narratives. But, I argue, the endings of these two games contradict their mechanics and present a different view of selfishness, love, and humanity.

Selfishness and Loneliness

Video games are one of the most personally interactive media; one takes control of the game, and so has a personal connection and personal experience within the narrative. In many ways, video games are inherently selfish or self-centered, focusing on self-preservation and self-betterment above all else. There are exceptions, in Left 4 Dead, for instance, teamwork is key as you will invariably rely on the other three survivors to help fight or rescue you (whether they are controlled by AI or other players). If one does become separated from their fellow survivors, either by accident or through gung-ho spirit, you will almost certainly be killed by the hordes of infected. Moreover, the game mechanics often require cooperation—for instance, “the Smoker” special zombie has a tongue that insnares players so that other players must release the victim. Left 4 Dead by its very nature is a cooperative game. Yet it is contrastingly no less isolating for its multiplayer focus—without your teammates you are vulnerable, but they too can die and leave you further alone. There are so many infected that you are overwhelmed, and the only form of contact with other survivors is through relics (graffiti, abandoned outposts). Although you work as part of a unit, there is a sense of fighting the inevitable and alone any player is vulnerable. The isolation of the game makes perfect strangers work together (both in the narrative and with players online), their individual hopelessness drives people together out of necessity—which, one could argue, is still within the realms of self-preservation above all else (especially when one considers that there remains a score-based system in the “credits” of the levels, still promoting a sense of individualism and one-upmanship throughout the game).

Bioshock and The Last of Us differ in that it is their extreme isolation that causes the characters and players to act selfishly, though at other times they too offer an interesting contrast as both games show a human desire and need for communication and interaction. Until recently with morally gray games such as Spec Ops: The Line and The Last of Us Part II—and many others not discussed here, like Undertale (2015)—players entered a black-and-white world, under the impression that their character's views and actions were just and absolute. It is a recent trend in single-player gaming to make the player question their own character's selfish actions. The pandemic games of Bioshock and The Last of Us present scenes of selfishness in a crumbling world, forcing the player to query the morality of their actions. For instance, Joel distrusts and dislikes nearly all he meets on the road (even Ellie at first). Joel does become more human as his relationship with Ellie progresses, but even here, arguably to the end of the game, he is acting with his own interest. Again, we find that these games have an exceptional ability to create guilt and question humanity.

In Bioshock the player comes across little girls around the map, known as “Little Sisters.” They are protected by huge, armored monsters call “Big Daddies.” The Little Sisters have been conditioned (by a mutated sea slug) to reclaim ADAM from corpses, as such they are considered valuable. The player is given the choice to remove the sea slug and release the children—which is encouraged by their “mother,” Tenenbaum—or kill the Little Sisters, “harvesting” them selfishly for their ADAM. There has been some criticism of Bioshock for this, though not because of the moral choice itself but because the choice is too easy as players are rewarded heavily for freeing the girls (Blow, 2007). Acting “good” results in reward and, therefore, acts as the correct approach for the player's best (selfish) interests; a more complex moral dilemma could be found if acting good led to little reward. Nonetheless, before knowing about the rewards, the decision to kill (and help yourself to the Little Sisters’ ADAM) or to save is quite harrowing. It forces the player to think about how far they will go to survive. The developers purposefully depict the Little Sisters in a way to evoke pity; they are all very young (between 5 and 10), where modest dresses, are shoeless, and cower from the protagonist—they are designed to inspire the image of innocence (with their glowing eyes presenting the uncanny corruption of the sea slug within). Their innocence is also highlighted through their mannerisms, as the girls skip, sing, and refer to their bodyguard Big Daddies affectionally (i.e., “Mr. Bubbles”). Perhaps it is fair also to say then that this design makes the choice somewhat obvious for players and in doing so further reduces the moral choice of the gameplay—in the face of their innocence it is harder and more obviously wrong to act too selfishly. Yet, there is an oxymoron in rescuing the Little Sisters—to harvest or save the girls (for either reward) the player must first kill their Big Daddies. These figures act as difficult mini-bosses and so defeating them feels rewarding, but they are humans (genetically enhanced) and the Sisters, even when freed, feel bonded to them, and even mourn their loss. Even to help in Bioshock, the player must inflict more pain and bring more loneliness to the world.

The voluntary action of killing the Big Daddies and rescuing or harvesting the Little Sisters is designed to make the player uneasy about their choices and selfishness; yet you are compelled to act selfishly to survive as you are isolated and, for stretches of the game, alone with little to no contact from Splicers or other characters. Furthermore, the soundscape of Bioshock highlights one's loneliness; the constant groans and creaks of Rapture remind the player that they are trapped in this crumbling world—crushingly enclosed by the cold, dark of the sea. This oppressive sound design is furthered through the sickly green color scheme presenting a world of illness and unease. Truly, everything in Bioshock is uncanny. This is also emphasized by the Splicers who attempt to cover their mutated faces with masquerade masks, depicting a very human emotion of shame while acting with inhuman abilities and aggression. The further the player goes into the game they realize that Rapture is a place of deceit, manipulation, and insanity; late in the game, even the protagonist's free will is shown to be an illusion. While the player resists the world around them—initially by fighting Splicers—they are slowly absorbed into the world. You become violent, splice your DNA with ADAM, potentially show cruelty to the Little Sisters, and then, in the climax of the game, discover that you belong and were created in Rapture. In many ways, the sickness prevailing around Bioshock is personified by the player; you are on the surface human, but your actions are unnatural and tainted. Unlike in Left 4 Dead or The Last of Us, the figures in Bioshock do in some way resemble and act like humans—the singing from Splicers and Little Sisters resonant as an example of this in the oppressive and often quiet world of Rapture. There is an illness and a bubbling rage, but the humanity is not quite gone—as the player kills and mutilates their own body it is clear that they too are becoming less human as the game progresses. The game mechanics of using plasmids on oneself forces the player to become another sick and aggressive figure in the world of Rapture.

However, though the player has participated in this oppressive world, they also have a chance to break it. Depending on how the player has acted toward the Little Sisters, the protagonist either ends the narrative by adopting the children and leading a positive life or they scare the children and release the Splicers—leading to the spread of hate and destruction to the surface-world. Evidently, either the player's selfishness or kindness is shown to have a great impact. Moreover, emotion and kindness, or lack thereof, plays a significance in the downfall of the antagonist, Ryan (Armin Shimerman). Ryan fails because of his hateful nature and the lack of understanding he portrays toward his son, Jack, the protagonist (Rose, 2015, pp. 20–21). In short, it is shown that selfishness leads to a lack of humanity and, ultimately, disaster. Throughout the game, we see that Jack, and by extension the player, is drawn toward human interaction, even if this is overwhelmed by their violence—it is noticeable, for instance, that the player is supposed to trust the voice of “Atlas” who appears to aid the player. Of course, as the game progresses, we realize that Atlas is actually a fraud, their real identity is Frank Fontaine (Greg Baldwin) who is trying to kill the player, but there is still a clear sense to look for hope in others when confronted with isolation. Equally, it is only when partnering with Dr. Tenebaum and her mob of Little Sisters that Ryan is defeated. We see in Bioshock a literal example of the power of uniting together, and it deepens how cruel and selfish the player has been to the Little Sisters in their journey of survival as to whether they get the good or evil ending. The illness in Bioshock is both a physical and psychological one; it is easy to get absorbed into this ill world, and in doing so hate spreads. But there is hope for humanity if the player questions and resists the negativity in the world around them; in other words, if the player resists the illness that befalls others in Rapture. Interestingly, there is the implication here that society and civilization have failed, but hope is found in the individual; arguably it is a bleak view of society, but not of the individual human condition.

Hope is not a word that many would associate with Left 4 Dead; the “zombie” hordes and abandoned environments would suggest there is little to hope for, even if the limited narrative sees the four protagonists attempting to find some form of salvation. Although perfectly possible to play individually (with AI controlling the other four in the group), Left 4 Dead is designed as a multiplayer game, and teamwork is needed to be able to survive. Often the player will succumb to the infected and must hope for revival from their teammates. Unlike Bioshock, in Left 4 Dead, you are not truly alone. Looking at the campaign mode for Left 4 Dead and the teamwork needed, Scott Reed argues that there is the potential “to become more human” (Reed, 2011, p. 228). Players online who would otherwise have no social connection are forced to work together, much as the characters in the game's narrative are. There is a human bond in their struggle and a reliance on one another. Unlike Bioshock where the player may walk some distance without seeing a Splicer (though always fearing their presence), in Left 4 Dead the player is never far from the infected, often being surrounded by them. Although there are several human-like figures around the player, their uncanniness, discussed previously, creates a feeling of isolation. But as you are part of a small team there remains a purpose to fight. The characters in Left 4 Dead are forced together not by choice, but in hope—hope that through their joint humanity they may work together to survive. Admittedly, there is little redemption offered for the infected, who, again, are treated as the evil “Other”. But as the characters bond and work together there is an enduring sense of community. The inverse is found in The Last of Us.

Despite its title, The Last of Us features several human factions, more so than the other games discussed in this article. Yet, nearly all other groups act as additional antagonists to be fought as frantically as any infected. Most noticeably, there is an oppressive military regime that is opposed by the rebellious Fireflies—other human groups included hunters, bandits, and cannibals (who all try to kill the player). Although Ellie admires the Fireflies and does make some friends in the game, there is division and questionable ethics displayed by the group. Joel's brother, Tommy (Jeffrey Pierce), offers a rare glimpse of community, forming a small commune. But even they only survive by fighting bandits, distrusting outsiders, and acting (relatively) selfishly. Distrust is prevalent among characters as a chief mechanic for survival. Yet characters are not one-dimensional as is exemplified in a cut scene as Ellie talks to David (Nolan North), a cannibal, who offers her food:

David: No. No, I promise. It's… just the deer meat.

Ellie: You're a fucking animal.

[Ellie bends down and starts eating the food.]

David: Oh. You're awfully quick to judgment. Considering you and your friend killed how many men?

Ellie: They didn't give us a choice.

David: And you think we have a choice? Is that it? You kill to survive… and so do we. We have to take care of our own. By any means necessary.

Evidently, David (who oxymoronically seems like a kindly figure) has a sense of community and responsibility, but he is also willing to build this at the cost of others. In many ways, David is the epitome of the duality of humanity in this game. Humans have the capacity to love (we see this with Joel and Ellie's paternal relationship), but animalistic survival instinct is dominant. But against David we also question the actions of Joel and Ellie, are they truly much different?

Unlike Bioshock or Left 4 Dead where the player is surrounded by the subhuman, in The Last of Us there are many other humans. And yet Joel and Ellie (and by extension the player) are forced away and distanced from others through violence, survival, and selfishness. It is interesting that it is not the infected that create this loneliness, but the self-imposed isolation from other humans. Toward the end of the game, Joel and Ellie reach Salt Lake City, where the Fireflies are finding a cure for the infection. Joel discovers this involves surgery on Ellie (which will kill her). To prevent this, he kills the surgeon and Marlene (Merle Dandridge), the leader of the Fireflies, and flees with a unconscious Ellie. The morality of Joel's actions has been widely debated since the game was released. It could be argued that Joel saving Ellie is in itself an act of selfishness (see, for instance, Tassi, 2013), but what the end of The Last of Us also shows is a bond between characters that trumps rationality. In a world of callous bleakness, love guides Joel, rightly or wrongly; that is a strong message for a game that shows the darkest side of humankind.

Both Bioshock and The Last of Us show us that individuals are capable of love and compassion, we are forced to feel guilt as players if we do not save the Little Sisters, and made to feel painful anguish for the horrors faced by Joel and Ellie. Through realistic NPCs (Isbister, 2017, pp. 20–22, 41–42) and player-characters, these games make the player connect with the characters in the game, and so feel their pain, fear, and love. They reflect the complexities of humankind where love can prevail even in the bleakest of times, though it is fragile. Yet, as discussed, there is debate about the intention and supposed selfishness of Joel; and the rescuing of the Little Sisters in Bioshock is to the reward of the player. These games still present even our heroes as self-centered (or at least self-preserving) and present a society that is all too ready to turn on one another. This, I argue, reflects our own pre-Covid-19 fears as communities and societies have seemingly become more divided in recent years.

Reality

In September 2005, a mistake in coding led to a virtual pandemic in the massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) World of Warcraft (2004). In one level, an “end boss”, Hakkar the Soulflayer (Chris Metzen), would dispel corrupted blood that infected and weakened the player. The attack was supposed to only have an effect in one area of the game, but unfortunately the blood also infected players’ pets and minions and, as such, spread the corrupted blood across the game's world. It took nearly a month for developers to fix the digital pandemic during which time deaths of player-characters were rampant, towns and cities in the game were deserted, and an in-game quarantine was advised by Blizzard Entertainment. At the time, there was some discussion by epidemiologists about using the “Corrupted Blood Incident” as a case study; although acknowledging the limitations of studying a virtual world, Balicer (2007) and Gary Smith (BBC, 2007) note that academic studies rarely consider the unpredictable nature of people during a pandemic—whether infected or not—which could be seen by studying gamers’ responses to the “Corrupted Blood Incident.” In an eerily reminiscent foreshadowing of Covid-19, some players helped others with healing abilities and obeyed quarantine, others simply fled, and some did not treat the pandemic seriously and even deliberately infected others (BBC, 2007). Players’ actions in the virtual pandemic are fairly compatible with real-life actions during Covid (Fenlon, 2020). Although a MMORPG and not a single-player narrative, and so more guided by player actions, the World of Warcraft incident demonstrates that we should not be too dismissive of how players act in the virtual world—it can be surprisingly reflective of reality.

Although there is much negativity in the media surrounding Covid-19, what cannot be denied is the powerful response and selflessness that has been seen among communities during the pandemic. In the UK, for instance, the government aimed to recruit 250,000 volunteers to help the NHS during the early months of the pandemic—within two days 750,000 had volunteered (NHS, 2020). The public clapped weekly and painted rainbows to thank NHS staff, they donated £32.7 million to NHS charities as Captain Sir Tom Moore (a 100-year-old man) walked laps of his garden, and countless acts of everyday kindness have been prevalent during the Covid-19 pandemic. This selflessness was also evident in the virtual world with World of Warcraft. There are villains (in reality and virtually) and adversity is needed for challenge in video games, but the goodness of society and the communal nature of humans is often ignored in the pandemic worlds of video game narratives. This leads to a rather obvious question of why? In real life, humankind is communal, even in video games like World of Warcraft characters interacted and helped one another, so why is this not seen in games such as The Last of Us and Bioshock?

I argue that the answer is fear. It is not uncommon for various forms of the media to reflect social anxiety; notably, works of horror often provide interesting reflections of society. For example, films like Cloverfield (2008) reflect the pain of 9/11 and the “torture-porn” genre, such as the Saw (2004–2010, 2017–present) and Hostel (2005–2011) film franchises, can be viewed as a reaction to the wars that followed. Horror, Aviva Briefel and Sam J. Miller explain, offers an environment where the “fundamental rules of our own reality no longer apply” which allows for an exploration of our societies under a veil of fiction (Briefel & Miller, 2011, p. 3). As with film, the reflection of social anxieties is evident in the pandemic and post-apocalyptic video games, which are nearly solely of the horror genre. This article has shown how games express and create feelings of guilt, self-centered behavior, and isolation. All of these aspects make the player question their morality and to a certain extent question what it is to be human (or at least humane). But these pandemic games show more than this; they present our fears. The emotional connection that arises from themes of guilt and isolation makes us also, in turn, question our own societies. There are two key fears these video games explore: the abject breakdown and division of civilized society, and the isolation and loneliness that stems from this.

Previous pandemics and endemics such as HIV in the 1980s, the SARS outbreak of 2002–04, and recent Ebola outbreaks, have likely shaped our fear of viruses (Crockett & Zarracina, 2016). But I argue that the games of this study are more focused on society than illness. Currently, we live in a world that is clearly going through a significant social change in terms of technology, culture, and politics. As such, it is unsurprising that there is social anxiety about change and division. In The Last of Us there is a significant divide among groups; we have seen such fracturing in society (if to a lesser degree) over the past decade. This is apparent in recent years with political upsets dividing opinion (for instance Trump and Brexit)—but even events over the previous decade point to division in Western society (the 2011 London and UK riots, the Occupy Wall Street movement of the same year, the 2014 Ferguson unrest). If the dystopian video game plays upon anxieties and warns of their danger (Farca, 2018, p. 115), then the pandemic game, where society divides and is lost, stems from problems faced currently in society. The breakdown of society and civilization is exaggerated, but it is not a fear without foundation. Arguably, this social division is rather odd as we now have more avenues for connection than before, for instance through social media. However, some studies suggest social media use can actually lead to a sense of loneliness (Boursier et al., 2020; Hunt et al., 2018) and, more importantly, we have seen over recent years that social media highlights and even furthers the divisions in societies. We fear the removal of our technology, but technology has also caused loneliness and division—all themes and fears found and explored in pandemic games.

In many ways, the pandemic game fetishizes the social anxieties of the day, the player is (more or less) alone as division and selfishness spread around them, as damaging as any illness. This manipulation of anxieties builds the tension found in the narratives of pandemic games; although these games can also offer a space to vent such frustration that is free from social constraint. This is most apparent in Left 4 Dead where violence is not only required but also encouraged. Even The Last of Us, which presents a “realistic” world, violently liberates players like no other medium would. Steven Poole compares Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic The Road (book 2006 and film 2009) and The Last of Us because of their similar storylines, yet The Last of Us expects brutality, violence, and murder that would diminish the “tragic grandeur” of The Road's narrative (Poole, 2017). Evidently, as Blow also suggests (2007), video games appear to have a looser view of morality and humanity. Poole goes on to question why post-apocalyptic games do not show the rebuilding of society as would happen in reality. But this does not align with the anxieties the pandemic game narrative stems from, they reflect a fear that we are being divided, asking the player if we can even hope to fix our own society in the first place. This view is social anxiety to the nth degree and may also reflect the effects of George Gerbner's “mean world syndrome” where we have become use to pessimism and fear in the media and thus believe the world to be worse than it is (Laughey, 2007, pp. 20–21). Although the ends of Bioshock and The Last of Us suggest there is slight hope for the individual through compassion, the overall tone of these games is bleak. In effect, these games manipulate fears: fears of isolation and of a crumbling society—they depict a world that we as an audience are too ready to accept. Yet for all our fears, civilization has not fallen apart; history has shown us that societies pull together, even in digital environments like MMORPGs. Now we are living through a significant global pandemic and (for the most part) have not torn one another apart, one wonders if the post-apocalyptic pandemic video game will lose popularity. Or at least will they present a less pessimistic view of humanity and, perchance, a more sympathetic view of those infected? Our inherent social instincts appear stronger than we feared, or than video games have shown.

Conclusion

Although, as I have written, there have been many positive signs of humanity and caring during the Covid-19 outbreak, one should be careful not to view the situation from a narrow perspective. The Covid-19 pandemic has caused political and civil unrest across the world—the scale and severity of which differs from location to location and is dependent on other underlying tensions in each country. The world has seen events that are not unwholly like the panic, violence, and selfishness seen in the pandemic video game. Looting in South Africa in July 2021, triggered by the arrest of former President Jacob Zuma, saw the theft of several Covid-19 vaccines (Mlaba, 2021) and, earlier in the pandemic, there were reports of deadly riots in prisons in Columbia, Lebanon, and Italy (Azhari, 2020; BBC, 2020; Snuggs, 2020), triggered by prisoners panicking about unhygienic conditions, or else the removal of prisoner rights due to the then-developing spread of Covid-19. Yet, civilization continues in one form or another—the fears and anxieties explored in the pandemic video game are clearly not unfounded, but they are, perhaps, slightly misplaced.

Clearly, the games discussed in this article present pandemics in the extreme, each shows a breakdown of society, little to no sympathy for those infected, and dog-eat-dog worlds. Pandemic games clearly reflect Blow's belief that over time gamers have been conditioned to expect inhumanity and to act inhumanely too. In Bioshock we are the outsider but are expected to kill and steal for our own survival; in The Last of Us there are several human groups, but the player is expected to trust, sympathize, and relate to Joel as he distrusts (and often kills) all those around him. Selfishness is expected, even from the heroes of the game; it is interesting that the pandemic game presents a view of society where social comradery is often the least protected value. Does this perhaps reflect the fears of a divided society? Or indeed reflect the concerns faced in the increasingly capitalist societies that these games were developed in. These games do not judge characters (or the player) for acting in such a way—in fact, it is expected and, in some cases, rewarded, even if one's self-preservation requires violence. Society, in a crisis of a pandemic, is expected to fail and the need for self-preservation will be asserted. These games largely prevail on the prevalence of division in society.

And yet, while society's morality fails, these games still present individual human beings as capable of love and humanity. After all, while the player may fear division in society, they surely must know that they themselves are capable of good. And, indeed, kindness and a need for humanity still exist in these games: the relationship between Ellie and Joel, the teamwork of Left 4 Dead, or Tenenbaum's rescue of the Little Sisters all demonstrate this. Here, there is an odd divide as the games show that selfishness is to be expected but also express the connection, relatability, and compassion of humanity. Is this not, perhaps, again showing the mean world syndrome as we know that individually we are capable of love but expect the world to be worse than us, and worse than it is?

In these games society has fallen, and enemies now surround, but the response to this new world differs. Although Left 4 Dead is a horror, the lightness of the narrative and gameplay style presents the game as cathartic fun—whereas The Last of Us and Bioshock have more morally gray plots that make you question what a monster actually is (a point emphasized in The Last of Us Part II); they show that humans have the capacity to descend beyond the infected. We connect with these games because they force the player, to an extent, to consider their choices, their morality, and humanity—humanity that there is hope for (as seen through Ellie and Joel's relationship). But these games do not offer representative depictions of their societies or of human nature, games like The Last of Us build a connection with the player because it presents what we fear. They show division and selfishness that in a pre-Covid-19 world were chief concerns. But now we have lived through a pandemic perhaps it is fair to say such games have become too perverse and will surely change in the future. Indeed, Turtle Rock Studios discussed their recently released Back 4 Blood (2021), which was in development before the Covid-19 outbreak, stating that their game is about building new safe places, noting that in other post-apocalyptic games “there's never any hope for the future. And there's never a way out of it, it's just the end of civilization” (McWhertor, 2020). It is slightly ironic that the developers of Left 4 Dead, the game that involves the most cathartic violence in this article (which also appears to continue in Back 4 Blood), are presenting a relatively hopeful depiction of an apocalyptic pandemic—but as we have seen in Left 4 Dead, and with pandemics in the digital and real worlds, when there is teamwork there is hope for humanity, civilization, and salvation—unless you are anything resembling a zombie that is.

Author Biography

Phil Wintle completed his PhD at the University of Leicester on the topic “The Representation of the Ku Klux Klan in American Cinema (1988–2016),” He is interested in topics of violence and racism in films and video games—though his research interests also extend to television and theatre. He is currently Head of Media and also teaches Drama at d’Overbroeck's, Oxford, having completed a PGCE as well as being an Associate Fellow of the Higher Education Academy (AFHEA). Previously he graduated with an MA with Merit in English from Loughborough University, after receiving an Upper Second Class (Hons) BA in Drama with English, at the same institution.